


'cause we're dancing in this world alone

by orphan_account



Series: ho hey [1]
Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: Alpha Jingim, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Omega Marco, or: Jingim and Marco have a whoopsie baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: What Altai remembered of his childhood was this:His mother explained that, for all Venice was beautiful, they were not kind to people like him — o-me-gas, as he’d taught Altai. And so, they needed to be careful. Altai grew used to addressing his mother as ‘sir’ or just Marco in public, often. When it was just the two of them, it was okay though. And so Altai learned to hide, in a different way his mother did.
Relationships: Prince Jingim/Marco Polo (Marco Polo)
Series: ho hey [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992937
Kudos: 19





	'cause we're dancing in this world alone

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say except I am trash.
> 
> I thought about this seeing there's some unfinished A/B/O works in the tag, and couldn't resist writing about it. 
> 
> I tried my very best to emulate everyone's voice as best as I could, so please excuse me if you think it's a bit OOC. I like to think Jingim mellowed out even more with the years and had time to think about why Marco decided to leave, hence his reaction. I have one more piece for this particular series, but I may write more. 
> 
> Also, this is obviously very historically inaccurate, as actual prince Zhenjin never did become Khan. But, I mean, the show itself is not that historically accurate either, and this is an A/B/O au of that of all things so. Yeah. Can't believe I just said that

What Altai remembered of his childhood was this: 

His mother explained that, for all Venice was beautiful, they were not kind to people like him — _o-me-gas_ , as he’d taught Altai. And so, they needed to be careful. Altai grew used to addressing his mother as ‘sir’ or just _Marco_ in public, often. When it was just the two of them, it was okay though. And so Altai learned to hide, in a different way his mother did.

That, he did not like. He thought it unfair that someone should be hated and treated as less because of things they could not control; his mother had not chosen to be an omega as much as he had not chosen to have green eyes.

Eyes, Altai noted, he did not share. 

“Did my father have brown eyes?” he asked, while they had afternoon tea after a long day at the market.

He did not notice his mother tensing up. Still, his mother seemed to know a lot about a lot of things, so surely, he also knew about Altai’s father.

“He did,” Marco said. He placed a hand on the child’s right cheek. “You look a lot like him.” There was something in his voice that Altai could not identify; he had never sounded like that. Something told him he should not ask about it, so he did not.

“What was my father like?” Altai asked.

“What is this, an interrogation?” Marco teased.

“I want to know about him,” Altai said sincerely. “You promised that when I was older you would tell me. I am eight now,” he held up eight fingers, and Marco laughed.

“You are a little man now, huh?” Marco said. “Well, your father was a good man,” Altai noted the use of _was_ , and also that his mother looked like he was going some place far away in his mind. _Reminiscing_ , he knew it was called, because Marco had explained it to him. “He was brave, and he was deeply loyal to those he held close to him.”

Altai did not ask why he had left them, then, only because Marco had explained that it was them who’d had to leave. _When you are older, I will tell you, and you will hopefully understand_ , he had told Altai, when he was even smaller.

“But he could be rash sometimes, and stubborn like a mule, like a certain someone I know,” Marco said, pinching Altai’s cheek. Altai giggled. “You know, when I met your father, we did not like each other at all.”

“Really?” Altai said. Although his mother had never been a romantic, Altai had read about love in fairytales, and it was always about how the alpha swept the omega off their feet. He did not know his father, but he could not picture him not liking his mother. His mother was kind, and fun, and always taught Altai new things, so he saw no reason for his father to not like his mother.

“Really,” Marco repeated. “But he has always been a good man, and we eventually became friends.”

“And then you had me!” added Altai enthusiastically.

Marco laughed, “Yes, and you are my biggest treasure,” he got up, and obnoxiously kissed Altai’s cheek. Altai laughed. “I know you want to know more about your father, my darling,” he added. “But when you are older, you will understand.”

“ _When I am older_ ,” Altai mockingly parroted back. “You promise?”

Marco ruffled his hair, “I promise.”

-

Marco realized, as they eventually made their way through Central Asia, that he should have known Altai would insist on a merchant trip to his father’s land, using the pretext of eventually trading along the Silk Road. Though some would say he was much too soft-hearted, he could not deny his child anything, and on the day of Altai’s sixteenth birthday, they left Venice - perhaps for good, Marco realized. Nothing tied them back to it any more. Not Marco’s family, and certainly not even their trade, for they could just spend the rest of their lives traveling the world as merchants. Maybe Altai would take a liking to Jingim’s court, and want to stay. 

Or maybe, in the worst of cases, they would both end up dead. He did not want to entertain such thoughts.

“You told me that when I was older, I would understand,” Altai said, on the night of his nineteenth birthday, as they slept under the stars. Though it had been long since Marco had traveled through these lands, he knew it wouldn’t be long before they reached the Mongolian capital, according to the last merchants they had found on the road. 

Marco did not know how to start, so he decided to play it by ear, “I was young when I was brought to your grandfather’s court,” he said.

Altai rustled, and Marco could tell he was now laying on his side, staring at Marco. “Court?”

They were alone, so Marco knew he did not have to guard his tongue. The secret he’d kept for almost nineteen years would be safe between the stars and them. Still, recalling his last days in the empire was not easy. “Your grandfather was Khan,” Marco said. Altai knew what being a Khan meant, and knew of the way of life of the Mongols, insisting on being told everything Marco knew, once he had found out that his alpha sire was a Mongol.

“Ha-ha, very funny, mother,” Altai said. Marco remained silent. He could tell Altai was looking for a tell-tale sign of lying on Marco’s face. “Holy shit,”

“Language,” Marco half-heartedly scolded. 

Altai got up from his cot so fast, he almost startled Marco out of his own. “No way,”

“I haven't finished my story, young man,” Marco said, and laughed when Altai sat down, cross-legged, now clearly more invested than ever.

“Let me guess, let me guess,” Altai said. “You fell in love with the prince, and he swept you off your feet, and one fateful night he – ”

“Altai!” Marco said. Altai laughed, and now more than ever, Marco saw Jingim in the crinkle of his eyes, and in his smile, full of mischief. It was like he was standing in front of the Jingim he had met, when he had arrived at court. He had not been displeased, when he’d noticed that the babe resembled Jingim more so than he resembled Marco. His hair was not as dark, thanks to the fact Marco’s own was a dirty blond, and his eyes were a bit more rounded, but the rest was practically Jingim.

“Your father did not like me at all, and the feeling was mutual,” Marco continued.

“You told me that, before,” Altai recalled. “Was it a ‘I like you and I want you to notice me’ kind of “dislike”, or was it ‘I want to murder you in your sleep’ kind of dislike?”

Marco smiled, “The latter, I swear,” he said, noticing Altai’s shocked expression. “I was young, foolish, a foreigner. I did not know of the way of life of the Mongols, nor did I know what to do when my father left me as a servant to the Khan’s court.”

Altai seemed more concerned than surprised, now. He was an alpha, but he had seen, firsthand, the way omegas were treated, and how cruel the world could be to them, even if they had the protection of a family. Perhaps he was imagining the worst, picturing Marco alone in the court of one of the biggest empires the world had known. 

“I kept it a secret, for a long, long time,” Marco explained without Altai having to ask the question. “And I think that if it had been known, I would have perhaps been wed to your father – “ before Altai could interrupt, he added, “Whom I hated, Altai. It was not bad, but it was very – “ he tried to look for the word, but it escaped him. The way Jingim and him had been around each other back then could have been described as ‘dancing around each other’, if Jingim had known Marco was an omega. Now Marco knew that that was what it had been, and that the tension between them had translated into aggression because of their circumstances, and Marco’s secret. 

“Hm,” Altai said. “I think I get it.”

“We fought, once,” Marco continued. “Used our swords, so I could win my right to join him and your grandfather on the battlefield, at Xiangyang,” Altai did not need to know that that had not been the only time Jingim had raised a sword to him. There were some things he kept to himself, meant to stay between Jingim and him. “The last time I saw him, we were in Xanadu,”

“Why did you leave?” Altai asked, “Would he have turned you away, if he had known about me?”

Marco did not hesitate in his answer, “No, he would not have.” Jingim was not a cruel person, he was fair, had grown up to have a good head on his shoulders, and if he had known, he would not have let Marco go. “I was just… tired. I was offered an out, and I took it.”

“Who told you to leave?” Altai said. “Did they not know about you and father?”

“No one knew,” Marco replied. “Your grandmother wanted me to keep a secret. And she suggested I leave, and take the secret with me.”

Altai was sensible enough to not ask about the secret, but he would, eventually, because one of the many things he had inherited from Marco was his curiosity. “I thought that it would be better, if I left with you,” Marco continued. He had been afraid, once he’d found out about his pregnancy, while returning to Venice. He had thought about turning back and begging Jingim for mercy, but ultimately, he had to admit, he had been more afraid of facing Jingim; not because he would have turned his own child away, but because Marco loved him, and he did not know how to face it then. Everyone he loved had abandoned him, and the thought of Jingim doing the same – even though he wanted to believe Jingim would never have – had been too much. Venice was familiar and safe, and so, he had gone for the safe option. He had run, but he did not regret it, now. He had made his choices and he lived with them.

“Was it?” Altai asked.

“We were happy, weren’t we?” Marco asked in return.

“Yes,” Altai said. “I am happy now, too.”

Marco smiled. “We cannot wonder about the what-ifs,” Marco said. “I did what I did, and I cannot change it. I do not regret it,” he clarified, and he tore his gaze away from the stars to smile at his son. “It gave me you.”

Altai was silent for a bit, perhaps taking in all the new information about the father he had never known. “Do you think that father…” He shook his head, as if he were scaring away insects, “Forget it. It’s too childish.”

“What is it?” Marco asked. He knew not to insist. If Altai didn’t tell him after asking once, he would leave it alone.

“Do you think he’ll like me?” Altai asked, and although he knew his son was now a grown man, it was like he had eight-year-old Altai in front of him again, asking if he had his father’s brown eyes. It warmed Marco’s heart. “I know you don’t know what he is like now, but. I have wondered.” Altai said. “And I know I should not care about anyone’s opinion but my own, but…” Altai shrugged. 

“I think he would be a fool not to love you,” Marco said, and he meant it. “I cannot promise you anything, Altai. But you are a lot like him, when he was your age.” 

Altai snorted. “Well, I am _not_ a prince,” then, he furrowed his brow. “Wait – “

Marco giggled. “We should sleep. It will not be long left before we reach Cambulac,” Marco suggested. 

Altai laid down, but Marco could tell he was not ready to sleep. “One last question,” he said, and Marco knew that tone meant he did not have _just_ one question, but he let it slip, and they talked late into the night, Marco sharing the tales of his youth at the Khan’s court that he had not shared with anyone else.

*

“How are we supposed to get into the court?” Altai asked. “I mean, it’s not like you’re an emissary or anything.”

“When I first came here,” Marco said, as they walked through the gates of Cambulac. The city had changed in many ways, but it had remained the same in many others, as well. No one had recognized him, which he had expected. He had been nothing more than a servant to Kublai Khan; no big loss if he had deserted and died on the Silk Road, or something of the like. “You had to ask for an audience to be allowed to trade through the Silk Road.”

“Oh yeah, the Silk Road,” Altai repeated. “And father’s the one that says if you can.”

Marco nodded. They had heard that Kublai Khan had died seven years ago, and ever since, Jingim Khan was the one that ruled over his father’s empire. The logical part of his brain knew that was just the way of things, and the sentimental part of it – the one that had treasured what little kindness the Khan showed – had been a bit saddened by the news. 

“I will do the talking,” Marco said. “And if you ever feel like we’re in danger, I want you to run.” Not that there would be anywhere to run, really, but Marco had faith in Altai’s wits, and if anyone could ever outrun the reach of the Khanate, Marco was quite sure his son could do it. And he wasn’t just saying that because he had given birth to him; Altai was quite smart, charming, and quick on his feet. The road to Cambulac had just helped hone his skills. Marco hoped those would be enough in case Altai did have to run.

Altai furrowed his brow, concerned. “What?”

“I was not that well-liked at court,” Marco explained. “You remember when I told you about Xanadu?” Altai nodded. “Well, to make a long story short, your grandfather was betrayed by his adopted son, and he knew that I knew your father’s wife’s secret. And he knew that I had spared my father’s life when I should have struck him down, when I had the chance. It felt like betrayal.” Perhaps Jingim had seen it that way, too, after their last night together. “And everyone else thought that it was foolish to trust a latin in any capacity.”

Altai looked shocked, but not confused. He had a quick mind, and was good at connecting dots. “Big misunderstanding and a lot of drama, got it,” Altai said. “Whatever happens, I am not leaving you behind.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Your role is not to protect, Altai. I am the parent. I do the protecting here.”

“Whatever you say, old man,” Altai then crossed his arms. “Now, how do you even ask for this audience?”

*

They were not made to crawl to the Khan’s throne. Marco had almost gotten on his knees before a guard had stopped him. Jingim Khan had no patience for such formalities, and preferred to keep his audiences quick, the guard had explained. They were advised, though, to not look the Khan in the eyes unless he said so, to not speak unless spoken to, and to address him as _Great Khan, Khan of Khans, Jingim Khan, Lord Jingim_ , at all times. The guard had looked at Altai for a second too long, but Altai was using fabric to cover half his face – on Marco’s advice – and so, the guard did not pay him any mind. Perhaps they would have gotten an audience with Jingim quicker, if Altai showed his face, but Marco thought it only fair that they wait for their turn, like everybody else.

“You take that off once you’re in front of the Khan,” advised the guard. Altai nodded, his hands behind his back. He was not as jittery as he’d been the day before, pacing back and forth in the small room they had gotten at an inn, but Marco could tell he was nervous. He put a hand on Altai’s shoulder, and squeezed. Altai nodded, and took a deep breath.

Marco himself didn’t know how to feel, and guessed that the reality of all of this would only hit him once he saw Jingim face to face. He tried to steady his heart, and empty his mind. To find the balance within himself, like Hundred Eyes used to say. 

They walked down the path to the throne, the room unchanged, just as Marco remembered. A lot less people attended court now, by the looks of it. None of them seemed to recognize him just yet, and as they walked closer, Marco looked for familiar faces. Friendly faces, hopefully. He wondered if he would find Byamba among those, one of the only friends he’d had during his time at Kublai Khan’s court.

His wandering thoughts were interrupted when his eyes met Jingim’s, and it was then that his heart leaped out of his chest. His first reaction was to look at the ground, like they had been told to do. Reality sunk in, but not in a bad way – which was, perhaps, foolish of Marco, for there was no guarantee that Jingim would be happy to see him. He looked just the way Marco remembered him, and sat on his throne; tall, handsome, golden and proud. Time had passed, and it had been kind to Jingim, but he still looked like what he effectively was: a man who carried the weight of the Mongol Empire on his shoulders. Marco thought that he, in comparison, must look like the ugly duckling to Jingim’s beautiful swan. They had washed, and they had shaved, but they still wore clothes meant to be comfortable for the road, and he knew the prime of his looks had gone with his youth, but he was not ashamed of it. Besides, Jingim would not spare him any more thoughts than an old friend, mother of his child, and a latin weasel – he guessed some at court still remembered him as such – deserved. 

Or so he hoped. He hoped he did not incur Jingim’s wrath. What if Jingim thought him a traitor, too? After all, he had left after their one night together with no word. And for all he knew, the Khan had never told Jingim that Marco had been the one to save him from Kaidu’s blade. 

Such thoughts were yet again interrupted when he heard a voice – deep, familiar, that he had not heard in nineteen years. “Do my eyes deceive me?” Marco dared not look up, but Jingim did not sound mad – he sounded genuinely delighted. He hoped Altai was keeping his head down too, though. They could not take any chances. “Marco Polo, is that you?”

Marco knelt, and Altai followed suit. “None of that,” Jingim said. Marco got up, and helped Altai do the same. “It _is_ you, Marco.”

Marco smiled, and hoped it didn’t look like a grimace, nervous as he was. “Jingim Khan. It has been a long time.” 

Jingim frowned for a second, perhaps surprised at being addressed by his title, but he smiled again, “Far too long,” Jingim conceded, and he got up, walking down to Marco and Altai. “The court is dismissed. I would speak to Master Polo in private.” Without a word, everyone on the sides walked out, and Marco breathed a sigh of relief. He had not considered the scandal it would raise, if the entire court were to find out about Altai in this manner. He mentally cursed his carelessness, and admitted to himself that perhaps he had been too excited about seeing Jingim again to think things through.

He noticed that everyone at the feet of the Khan’s throne had walked out too, including a young man whom Marco assumed was Jingim’s son – Altai’s half brother – due to his proximity to the throne; he had been occupying the place Jingim had occupied when he was just a prince. Everyone but one tall, imposing figure had left.

“Is it really Marco?” the voice behind Jingim asked, and Marco knew right away that it was Byamba. “You bastard!” and before Marco could say anything else, he found himself being lifted up from the ground by Byamba. 

“Hello to you too, Byamba,” Marco said, out of breath after being squeezed in such a manner by a man that was easily twice his size. “It is good to see you.”

Jingim was smiling, and suddenly, his eyes were on Altai, “And this is?” 

Marco noticed that Altai seemed to be too nervous to remember his face-cover, and he lightly elbowed his son’s arm. Altai got the message, and he bowed his head while he pulled the fabric down, “My name is Altai, Jingim Khan.”

When Altai rose up, and faced Jingim – both of them of a height – Byamba and Jingim stared at him. It felt like an eternity passed, before Byamba said, “Right. I think you need to talk,” and promptly left the throne room.

Marco could not look Jingim in the eye. “This is my son,” he said.

“Your son,” Jingim repeated. “How old – “

“Nineteen, now,” Marco said. Jingim and Altai were looking at each other, and it would almost be comical, if it were not for the giant elephant in the room. Marco was always prepared for the worst, especially at court, so he thought of begging for mercy before things got ugly, “Before you make any decisions, I beg of you that no harm comes to him. Altai is not to blame for my mistakes.”

But Jingim did not look angry – in fact, Marco could not read his expression at all. “HIs name is Altai. And he is nineteen, and he – “ Jingim paused, and stared at Altai again. “You look like me.”

Altai looked at Marco, and then he looked at Jingim, “Thanks?” Marco elbowed him again, this time not as discreetly, and Altai winced. 

“You’re... “ Jingim said, and he looked like he needed to sit down.

“An omega,” Marco continued. “I am sorry I kept it from you – “

“No, I meant – that, too, but – “ Jingim said. “You’re my son.” He told Altai.

Altai looked like the information was new to him, and were it not for the gravity of the situation, Marco would have rolled his eyes, especially when Altai said, “I am? I knew that. I am. Uh – ” he cleared his throat. “Hello, uh. Lord Jingim – “

Marco almost jumped out of his skin when Jingim embraced Altai so tightly, he enveloped Altai’s body with both his arms. Altai was tall and he was growing muscle, but he looked smaller in Jingim’s arms. “Father,” he heard Jingim say. “You can call me father.”

Marco would have cried, but he saw Altai’s expression, and bit back a laugh. Altai was furrowing his brows, and he awkwardly reached out and patted Jingim’s back, clearly not knowing what to do after being told to treat the Khan with utmost respect. “Uh – father. I’m sorry. This is strange – not that you are bad at this, it’s just – “ he managed to shrug, “Well, you’re my father.”

“Clearly you got your way with words from Marco,” Jingim teased. He looked happy, and it _was_ strange. Marco had expected many reactions – all of them related to anger, but not happiness. He had expected to be thrown in a cell, not for Jingim to _hug_ Altai. Jingim released Altai from his embrace, but put both his hands on Altai’s shoulders. “Altai.”

Altai looked more relaxed now, “Father,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you. Please do not be angry, and hear my mother out,” he added.

“Altai,” Marco warned.

Jingim let go of Altai’s shoulders, but he still did not look angry. “My brother was right,” he looked at Marco, and the memories from nineteen years ago all came back to him. “We need to talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
